Autumn at Barnsley Gradens

Already a few days home, my annual Fall leaf viewing trip has once again proven to be a most excellent idea. 

This year’s destination was unheard of until last year’s inquiry at a Georgia visitor’s center in search of a good picture taking spot, which lead me to Barnsley gardens. Turning onto the entrance drive a year ago it was immediately evident that this was a very special place. I was so excited to be there! Who knew such a treasure would be found off this beaten path in these Georgian woods. My elation quickly turned to disappointment, the wind let out of my sails, when the keeper of the gate refused me passage. That day, the only day of the trip that I could be there, Barnsley Gardens was closed to the public for a wedding. Driving away I promised myself to try to return one day, maybe next Fall. 

Back at home, I researched Barnsley’s website and found that they offered “smart stay days”. Of course saving money was always a good thing. At the end of summer when I signed up for classes, I compared my schedule with the reduced rate days and was happy to find that I could carve out four days that would make a visit to Barnsley possible. I made a reservation in August, put new tires on my car in September and looked forward to my trip at the end of October. 

A couple of days before I was to leave, my daughter decided she would join me. I was delighted! It would be the first of my Fall trips that I would have a travel companion, and her first time to visit a northern Autumn. I had been anticipating this trip for a full year.

This time when I pulled up to the guardhouse, the same gate keeper from last year was there. He asked for our name to which replied “yes, we have been waiting for you”. As we drove toward registration my daughter and I looked at each other, dropped our jaws and giggled like school girls that we had been waited for! 

The delightful surprises kept coming, from a guided “tour” of our cottage room pointing out its finest amenities including a fireplace that someone would light for us when we called, 

to…

a claw foot soaking tub. 

I could barely contain myself.

All overnight guests stay in rooms or suites, in separate cottages lining beautiful boulevards and medians, with campfire bowls surrounded by Adirondack chairs. Altogether it was like a neighborhood of dreams, a perfect small-town USA. 

Morning coffee would be available in the lobby, and in the evening, all the ingredients to make s’mores along the boulevard.

Day guests come to enjoy the Gardens and ruins of the home Godfrey Barnsley built in the 1850’s for his beloved wife. She died before it was completed. So sadly romantic. The civil war prevented completion of the home which had become known as Woodlands, and then in 1906 the house suffered damage in a storm. Left to deteriorate until the 1980’s, the property was then purchased by Prince Fugger of Bulgaria who turned it into a resort. A real prince, the story gets more romantic!

Roofless brick walls of the original house with fireplaces and chimneys have been left intact, and still reach for the sky. Openings, once complete windows and doors, are now entered by vines and visitors. A museum of the property’s people and history, including art, photographs, furnishings and civil war memorabilia, is open for guests to enjoy. 

I could not get enough. 

But time was short, and there was not enough of it to enjoy horseback riding, skeet shooting, paint balling, hunting, canoeing, biking, golfing, lawn games, swimming, or spa-ing. I did however, enjoy walking miles of garden trails, the ruins, museum, shops, Woodlands Grill for potato leek soup and pear salad, s’mores by a campfire, a fire in the fireplace of our room, a picnic, and a sketch session. The icing on the cake, a soak in the claw foot bathtub, with lavender mist bath essentials.

We learned that Barnsley Gardens has its own fairy godmother, who is able to grant wishes. We saw her magic wand and three wheeled bike, with wings. We knew it was hers because it was parked by a sign that read “fairy parking, all others will be toad”.

The fall foliage was not as colorful as I hoped it would be, and it was cloudy when we arrived even though the forecast indicated there would be full sunshine. When I awoke from a gloriously good night’s sleep I discovered it had rained in the night, though the same weather forecast was for zero percent chance that would happen. This place was so magical for my spirit and psyche, sort of like a Disney castle for big girls, that I barely noticed the clouds and rain. 

There was some color, and the place shined without sunny skies, and wet leaves that stuck to my shoes and were carried into my car reminded me of the magic of Barnsley. I would have to clean my car on the weekend, vacuuming away the evidence, but I have lots of beautiful pictures, a pretty curled stick, a sketch, what’s left of lavender mist spa products, and wonderful memories. 

Of course, for lack of sunshiny blue skies I will have to go there again another day.

And quite frankly,

I can’t wait!

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With lights out, I heard my twenty three year old little girl from the bed on the other side of the room say, “tell me a story”.  She was snuggled into her white, soft-as-feathers bed here in our Barnsley Gardens cottage home for the night, with her Belle blankie and Kipper, the stuffed dog she’s had since she was twelve… 

This is the tale as best I can recall, though some embellishment may have been added for dramatic effect. 

Once upon a time there was a bunny named Barnsley.

 Barnsley loved his posh life in the gardens, bouncing, hopping and nibbling though his days. Day after day he bounced and hopped and nibbled all by himself. He wished he had someone to bounce and hop and nibble with.

The garden fairy godmother, granter of wishes, waved her magic wand leaving a trail of glittering magic fairy dust. Barnsley was a curious bunny so when he spotted the trail twinkling in the sunlight, of course, he followed it to see where it would lead. That is when Barnsley bunny met Bunny FooFoo. They were at first a bit timid, a tad reserved, but it wasn’t long before the two of them became best friends. They bounced and hopped and nibbled together day after day after day after day.

Bunny FooFoo had come to the gardens from the wrong side of the tracks where she learned to be mischievous. She showed Barnsley how to scoop up field mice and bop them on the head. It was great kicks and giggles until one day Barnsley noticed he made one of the field mice cry.

  

He couldn’t stand that he had been behaving so badly with his new friend Bunny FooFoo. He couldn’t stand that they had been so mean as to make poor innocent field mice cry. He couldn’t stand that the injured field mice scowled at him and sobbed “why don’t you pick on someone your own size”. 

So being from the right side of the tracks, Barnsley bunny remembered the two garden golden rules he was taught by his Mama, “do unto others as you would have them do unto you” and “no field mice scooping and bopping allowed. He was sorry he broke the rules and told Bunny FooFoo they could no longer be bouncing and hopping and nibbling friends if she would not stop being a meanie.

And then…and then and then and then,

 Bunny FooFoo told Barnsley bunny she could not bear it if they were not friends and that she would stop being a meanie. She would never ever ever again scoop and bop field mice on their heads.

Barnsley was so happy.

When nighttime came to the gardens, Barnsley bunny and bunny FooFoo gathered up some nice long sticks and some marshmallows for roasting. They got some Ghirardelli chocolate squares and graham crackers,

 and then…and then and then and then and then,

they went to the Spring house. That’s where the field mice lived, and they invited all of the field mice to come to the campfire and join in s’more making festivities.

They all enjoyed the fire, the sweet treats and, each other’s company. Who knew bunnies and mice could be such fine friends?!

From that night on to this very day still, all over the gardens, Barnsley, Bunny FooFoo, and the field mice bounce and hop and nibble and scamper and scurry and laugh and laugh and laugh together. 

They are all the very best of friends, and promise to always be.

 And so they have, each and all, lived happily ever after.

The End

And there you have it, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Poem written previous to departure for Barnsley

I’m tearing up the list that itemizes my to-do’s

Turning in my flip flops for a pair of hiking boots

I’m going to spend a little time enjoying the outdoors

Sipping cider, by a fire, in the chilly north

I plan to stay up late since I won’t have to wake up early

Fully appreciating every moment leisurely

My eyes will feast on forests of clapping autumn leaves

While my ears are serenaded with a ballad by the trees

In this their final effort to show what they have grown

Before their limbs and branches are stripped to the bone.

So before the leaves let go and are covered up with snow

As they struggle to hold on, unaware of what must come

May the time be sweet, there among the autumn leaves

For brief are the moments invested in me

P.J.

Jalopy

I am operating on overload. Still pushing through and accomplishing the tasks, but without heart. I'm just doing what I have to do. 

If I were a car I'd be a jalopy. 

My tires are losing their grip, my gears are grinding, my shocks are sagging and my engine is overheating. I'm limping along, nursed by temporary fixes.

I understand that my Cadillac days are behind and that my wish to be a Bentley...hmm, or Ferrari is just highly unlikely imagination, they are not how I roll. But, I would like to be a well oiled machine, a collectable, a restored classic collectable. 

I need my paint polished, and my headlights shined. I need to get the cobwebs out of my carburetor, inflate my tires, flush my radiator and recharge my battery. 

I'm going for a drive.

Going to put a few hundred miles distance between me and here. I'm going where the air is clean and cool and smells like burning leaves and campfire s'mores. I'm going where the food is flavored by an authentic Autumn seasoning and the apple cider is hot and spiced on my taste-buds. I'm going where the sheets are smooth white and pillows surround like soft hugs. I'm going where orange, yellow and red leafed foliage don't grow close to the ground like tropical Florida's Fall wanna-be's, where instead those vivid colors dress the tall forests. A vision of loveliness for sore eyes.

It won't be long before each breath of Autumn has cleansed and every cell is birthed in new oxygen. It's good that it won't take long because I haven't long, just a handful of days and then it's back to the familiar. I will again shed my sweaters and shoes, and the tastes and smells and sights will recede, almost like it never even happened. But I'll notice my gears grind less, my ride has smoothed out and my check engine light is off.

When I pull into a parking space back on the job, I'll see my reflection in the car next to me, and be pleased to see I'm not a jalopy after all. I am a classic restoration.

Emerald of the Sea

Fifteen minutes, that's all I had left of my one hour lunch break. Before the hour even began I had already decided to set aside a portion of it enjoying the edge of the ocean. Today it is calm, clear, blue and green, quietly lapping sand and the boulders placed there as a wave-break and sand retainer. 

I wish I could sit and stay awhile, but knowing I can't, I walk up the shore hoping to find a treasure. I imagine what a thrill it would be to find a long lost misshapen hand forged gold coin, washed up at my feet from a sunken ship. None today. I pick up an almost heart shaped rock but stand it up on its bottom too rounded to be an accurate heart, pushing it into the moist sand so what sticks up still looks like a heart, and walk on. 

With ten minutes left, I see up ahead a small patch of shells on the otherwise sparsely shelled beach, and head to that spot. I should be able to get there, look around and get back to my shoes in ten minutes. 

Fairly ordinary shells, no gold coins, no fabulous rocks, but then, there it is, a lovely half dollar sized triangular shaped sea emerald. Most would probably say it's a piece of glass, but I beg to differ. I see it already set and hanging around my neck, an emerald, a treasure. 

Success has been met so I step back toward my shoes and shuttle awaiting its driver. My co-worker Bob says, I'm surprised you're not at the beach". I grin and open my hand to reveal my find, replying "I just was". He thinks I should sell the things I make, so we discuss briefly how I should do that. I think I should sell these little treasure too, but what he doesn't know is that there is always a story to go along with my creations, a memory of sorts. I get personally attached which makes it difficult sometimes to part with the stuff I make. I hate to see it go. 

This particular find is a bottle bottom. It has a 95 on it. Maybe I should sell the necklace for $95. Maybe the 95 indicates a grade value, right between a 90 and a 100, a solid "A". Maybe it's significance is a year, 1995 is the year my last baby started school. Maybe it's of no significance at all, just a couple of numbers on a sand-ed hunk of green glass.

That could be all it is, but I don't think so. I think I had a fifteen minute gift of life that I used to go on a treasure hunt. And I found a sea emerald.

Yep, that's what I think.

P.J.